


The long crush

by fallen_woman



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_woman/pseuds/fallen_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because Soltian requested the following: “Theon nursing an unrequited crush on Robb when they were too young for that kind of thing, unsent letters and pubescent awkwardness.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The long crush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soltian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soltian/gifts).



The games in the green lands are mostly the same, only with different names, different terrain. Theon’s brothers used to rip him open on the rocks of Pyke; now, with the seas of grass at Winterfell, Theon has to play harder to bruise the same. 

“We could play rafts,” Theon says one day, when it’s just him and Robb in Robb’s room, when Jon has slunk off and Sansa has demurred as a girl should (his sister is an echo under his eyelids; every girl does what she would do, or what she shouldn’t do).

“What’s that?” Robb asks, brightly curled on the floor. “But we haven’t an ocean,” he says, and then stops himself.

“Well, I could be the raft and lie down. And you can lie on top of me and paddle to shore.” Theon closes his eyes. It wouldn’t be so bad — the water against his back, Robb covering him like a cloak. The waves would hit them together, and they’d squeeze closer so the water couldn’t get in. 

Robb tilts his head and rubs the right corner of his mouth. “We’ll find some kindling and make a proper raft. Then we can paddle together.” His eyes snap to Theon’s and he smiles in embarrassment (Lady Stark, Robb, Sansa — they all smile when they’re embarrassed). “I can’t use you like a raft, Theon.”

Theon’s chest feels tight and itchy-warm, but that’s nothing compared to the heat that jumps up his arm when Robb grabs his wrist to pull him up. 

—-

A decade later, as the letter to Robb twists black in flame, Theon puts his head to dank Pyke walls and closes his eyes. “Won’t be your raft,” he murmurs to the stones, the waves, the pathetic little ashes smeared across his knuckles.


End file.
